


Baby Flatline

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Accidents, Hand Jobs, Heaven sex, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Sam Winchester, Sam dies bloody in this one., also Sam loses his mind for a moment dere whoops but like jus for a second
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sam is pregnant with Dean’s baby.Dean’s dead, for good this time, and Sam has to face the challenges of parenthood and Dean’s death head on.The past haunts Samuntil it doesn’t anymore.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 227





	Baby Flatline

**Author's Note:**

> title is from jack stauber’s song baby hotline
> 
> this is unbeta’d so any mistakes are my own. i apologize for them in advance. also it’s.. 3AM.
> 
> also this is my first time writing anything nsfw, i hope it isn’t cheesy or weird. 
> 
> feedback/comments/kudos/etc always appreciated!! 
> 
> u all r so sexy 😈❤️❤️

Sam never thought he’d be raising their son alone.

A wooden, baby blue crib taunts him from across the room now. Specially hand crafted, Dean had been _very_ insistent about that. Sam wishes he hadn’t, currently it only serves as a haunting reminder of what’s not here. 

What’s missing.

His other half, his brother, _Dean_. The man he was going to raise a child with, for fucks sake. It was almost funny, only getting a few months to be free before the tether finally snapped and Dean was ripped away from him, this time, for good. 

Sam wanted to make a deal, do something, anything. He wanted to bring his brother back so bad he itched hungrily with it, an itch he could never scratch. 

—

Dean was gone, and Dean Jr. was left in his place.

Sam had gotten a house right after he’d burned Dean’s corpse. Moved all his stuff in, which admittedly wasn’t much. It was a spacious little thing, plenty of room for him, the baby, and Miracle. Sam avoided thinking about how Dean would’ve loved it here. If he did, he’d most definitely break down on the spot, and he didn’t know if he could get back up again. 

Sam had gotten a white house, fitted with black doors and window shutters to match. It sat in the middle of Kansas’ countryside, secluded and hid, out of instinct. 

It had been a month inside of the little white house with the black doors. 

Sam was in his second trimester now and he’d staved off coffee. He’d started back on fruit smoothies and other healthy foods, felt nice. Also felt a bit horrible too. Not to have anybody bitching at him for eating ‘that vegan shit.’ or ‘rabbit food.’ It felt a little bit empty, really.

—

When Sam was in his third trimester, he couldn’t hide the belly bump anymore. It had become noticeable his second, but now it was truly unavoidable. He’d go into town and be bombarded by questions like ‘Oh, whose the lucky guy?’ ‘When are you due?’ Blah blah blah. 

Sam had quit lying, now when anybody asked who the father was, he’d just look at them with hollow eyes, “He’s dead.” And leave before he could hear the litanies of ‘I’m so sorries’ and other various pities that reply usually got him. He was just telling the fucking truth. 

Sam hated looking in the mirror, he just wanted his damn water to break so he could get it over with. It felt wrong, not having Dean here to raise their child. It felt all kinds of wrong, and Sam was twisted, gnarled up and knotted inside with it. 

Sam's heart became barbed wire after his brother died. 

—

When Sam’s water finally broke, he cried. He cried until his voice was hoarse with it and his eyes were blood red. 

Then he drove himself to the local hospital. 

It’s a blur for Sam, after that. He doesn’t so much remember delivering the baby as much as he does waking up after and being fretted over by nurses. When he’d woken up the first time, they told him it was a boy, and he smiled lazily at them before passing out again. The next time he woke up, they were flitting around him, and he hated them for it. Sam wasn’t some fragile thing, he’d just had a baby is all. He’d just had their baby. 

_Their_ baby boy. 

Sam felt fragile then, remembering that, but he didn’t shatter. Not now, not anymore. 

They kept Sam in the hospital for four days, checked his uterus and made sure it was healthy. It was. They monitored him and his baby religiously, still.

Sam asked after his son every now and then, he was told “Oh, you’re little munchkin is doing just fine! Has the sweetest smile and the most darling brown eyes!” Sam smiled at them politely, he really couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of here. 

They released him after they had thoroughly examined him and the baby, again. Made sure Sam knew what to do, something called a skill check, apparently. Sam had passed because they finally stopped holding him hostage after a barrage of questions.

 _Thank God_. 

—

Sam hated it at first, raising a baby. They were needy, they’d cry, constantly wanting something. Having an infant and being in mourning don’t mix. Don’t mesh well, _at all_. Sam barely wanted to get out of bed most days, let alone take care of a whole ‘nother human being. He carried on though, not for himself though, but for Dean. Both of them, Dean and Dean Jr. 

Sam wanted to burn the baby blue crib, reminded him of pulling Dean’s lifeless body off of the rebar, feeling his dead weight and hauling him in the impala. Sam drove a hunky, rundown truck now. It sputtered, but at-least it didn’t smell like copper everytime Sam opened the driver side door. 

They’d carved their initials into the crib, Dean had been so proud of it. Of them. 

Sam didn’t burn it, because his son slept there. Also because it was one of the last things Dean had left him, but it hurt to remember. —Remember building it, Dean rubbing his hands over Sam’s newly pregnant belly, not even slightly swollen yet. One hand kneading just above Sam’s stomach while the other worked absently on fitting all of that bacon sandwich in Dean’s gullet. “God, Sam. Sammy.-“ Dean mumbled around a mouthful, quickly swallowing. “We’re gonna have a family.”

Dean rubbed his nose into the crook of Sam’s neck, sandwich long forgotten now. “Imagine, a bunch of lil’ mini Winchesters. That’d be so awesome, huh?” Sam couldn’t rightly focus on anything other than Dean feeling him up. “ _Mmhm_. Yeah.” Sam hummed. “Not to be gay or anythin’, but I’ve always wanted a family with you.” Dean cooed, mock sweet.

Sam cuffed Dean lightly on the head, snorting out a soft “Oh my god dude, shut _up_. I cannot believe you. We are so far past the gay thing. I’m like, your brother husband now.” 

“Yeah yeah, was just fuckin’ with you.” Dean waggled his eyebrows, pushed himself closer up against Sam, always trying to get as close as he could. Like a key n’ a lock. Slotted against each other all perfect like.

Sam figured Dean was trying to meld them together, not that he had an issue with it. Wished he _had_. 

Dean hauled him up against the workbench and Sam wrapped his doe legs around Dean’s back like clockwork. Dean ground up against him then and that’s when Sam heard the baby cry, felt Miracle licking up the familiar sting of hot, vitriolic tears rolling down his cheeks. 

He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying, and he’d been crying _hard._

Sam retired the baby blue crib to the attic that night, bought a plain grey one instead. That one didn’t have any memories, wasn’t dangerous, couldn’t give Sam some sort of fucked up PTSD. 

— 

Sam’s life went by in a blur. He was numb, moreso now then he’d ever been. It’d been getting worse, these last few years. He only kept track of it by how grey his hair was getting, and it was almost completely grey now. 

The only joy he got out of life anymore was watching Dean Jr. grow into himself. Dean Jr. was Sam’s earth now, and he revolved around him like the moon. Looked forward to hearing about his day after he picked him up after school, currently he had a crush on a girl in his 3rd grade class who he babbled on about constantly, Emma or something was her name. Either way, Sam was _so_ , _so_ very proud of his son. Dean would’ve been proud, too. 

—

Sam depended on Dean Jr. to keep him going like he depended on the watch on his wrist to keep him in his right mind. 

He had the watch on his wrist when he went into the garage and unveiled Baby for the first time in some ten odd long years. He cried at the sight of her, went automatically to climb into the passenger side door. 

Sam ran distressed hands through frayed, greying hair when he realized his mistake. He retracted his hand from the handle, retreated to the right side of the impala and clambered in through the driver’s side. He was immediately hit by that coppery blood smell, the blood he’d convinced himself he’d never be able to wash off. 

Shook his head and started the engine, let his hands close steady over the worn leather of the steering wheel. 

He just wanted to drive her, just to prove a point to himself, a silly point put a point nonetheless. That he could, that he was still capable. Sure, he could still drive his raggedy, debilitated Ford, but he just needed to know if he could do this. 

He called Dean Jr, needed to let his son know incase he fucked something up. His son was only in third grade though, he’d probably tell a teacher. Sam _hoped_ if anything went wrong, he’d tell a teacher. 

“Hey Dad, what’s up?” 

Sam felt fuzzy when he heard his sons voice, when the hell had it gotten so deep? 

“Hey buddy, you know that old impala we have out in the garage?” 

He hears his son make a ‘uhhhumn’ noise before continuing. 

“I’m gonna take her out for a spin, maybe pick up a few things for dinner. Just wanted to let you know incase I come pick you up in a _suh_ weet ride, just so you have time to make sure your friends aren’t freaked.” Sam taps on the wheel absentmindedly, smiles as he says, “How’s Emma, by the way?”

“Dad, what?” He hears nervous laughter, odd but not out of the ordinary. 

Hears mumbling before his son speaks up again. 

“Dad I, I can drive now and I haven’t known anybody named Emma since the third grade. Are you feelin’ okay? I can come home.” 

“What grade are you in?”

“ _What_? Dad, I’m a junior. In high school. That’s it, stay where you are, I’m coming home.” The phone had already been hung up before he could protest his case.

Sam felt dread wash over him, rested his head on the familiar skin of Baby to wash away some of it. 

That coppery scent still filled his nose, threatened to take him back to that night. 

What night? 

Sam gripped his wrist tight, stared down at the watch on his wrist and held onto his sanity. Felt it all come crashing down, bucket of ice water on a winter day. 

“Fuck. What the hell? Just go.. grab some stuff for dinner. I can do that. God, christ.” The engine roared to life, Sam gripped the wheel with shaking fists. 

He pulled out just as his son was pulling in. 

He could _see_ his son yelling, just couldn’t hear him. 

—

Sam didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, but he woke up in a white room, smelled like chemicals and baby wipes.

Oh, god. A hospital. 

He jerked upright with a desperate plea of “Dean?!” 

“Right here, Dad.” 

He looked over and saw his son, brown hair and almond brown eyes. Freckles, like his father. Sam smiled, the room always brightened for him when he looked at _Dean_. 

His smile fell when he remembered what the hell got him here in the first place. 

He reached out, gripped his son's hand where it rest idly on the drab rough sheets of the hospital bed. 

“God, I’m so sorry Dean. Was like I lost myself, I thought you were in _third_ grade, for f- for christ’s sake!” 

His son smiled warily up at him, tired.

“It’s cool, dad. You’re.. you’re up there, ykno? I mean your hair, it’s all white, practically. It’s just. You’re fifty five, dad.” He felt his son squeeze his hand, he squeezed back. 

“You’re fifty five. I don’t have nobody else, never got to know much about dad but it’s like the grief is driving you-“ 

Sam shushed him, pulled Dean Jr in close. 

“Ow, what the hell?” He pulled back to look down at his bandaged ribs, felt his forehead, and sure enough, gauze was plastered there too. 

“You were in a car crash, idiot.”

“That’s no way to talk to your old man, you know.” Sam’s eyes crinkled, cheeks split on a grin. 

“Yeah, whatever, just glad you're alive.” 

A hushed whisper of “Me too.” and Sam pulled his son in close again, carded his hands through caramel curly hair and sighed. 

Looked at his watch, it was 6:30 PM on a Friday. 

Sam had gotten into the impala on a Tuesday. 

He inhaled, and smelled blood. 

—

The next time Sam got into the impala, his son was well on his way to graduating college. Sam had just planned to sit there this time, but something about being under her roof had him itching to go, be on the road. Instinct. Heard the roar of the engine before he’d even registered he’d started it. 

Sam pulled out onto the freeway, drove mindlessly for a while. On a road to nowhere. He called Dean Jr, but not to tell him about how he was ‘driving the impala.’ He didn’t need to, he was perfectly lucid, felt free with both windows rolled down, one of Dean’s zeppelins traxx playing, a dangerous thing really, Sam couldn’t help breaking down every so often when it came to those damn tapes. 

“Hey dad, how’sit?” 

“Good, just catching up on some reading. How’s college, college boy?” 

“Ew, don’t call me that. But it’s good, so far. We have this one real bitch of a teacher, Mrs. Pamela,—“

Sam zoned out, focused on the road and his son's voice. It was dark when Dean Jr let him go with a reluctant “Got to go, talk to you tomorrow, pa. Stay safe!”

Sam couldn’t help the soft smile that quirked up on his lips. “Will do, you too. Love you, bye.” 

Sam clicked his phone shut and set it down. He saw a motel in the distance, wanted to pull in there out of habit, was going to if not for the semi that rammed into him last minute. 

Sam heard the audible crack of his face against the steering wheel, his heart ramping up in his chest jackrabbit fast as the car was sent flying. It landed upside down, glass shattering on impact. Sam sobbed as he watched, out of his one good eye, the other plastered shut now, as the semi kept on driving. A larger piece of the impala’s glass had wedged its way into Sam’s abdomen. Sam inhaled sharply and let out a shaky sob, it hurt so much just to breathe. 

He let himself scream as much as he wanted as he worked on ripping the glass out of his stomach, a back and forward motion before he finally peeled it out. 

Sam watched with hazy lids as blood spurted up from the wound. 

Hazy lids drifted closed gradually, last words a garbled, choked mess of spit, blood, and “ _Dean_.” 

—

When Sam fell asleep, this time, he woke up in Heaven. 

Sam woke up on a bridge, impala next to him and brother in front of him. 

“Heya, Sammy.” 

No way. No fucking way. 

Sam’s face lit up. “Dean.” 

Dean turned around to face him fully, approached him and looked him up and down. “Lookin’ good.” 

Sam couldn’t stop smiling for the life, or better yet, death, of him. 

He heard his brother rumble “C’mere.” before pulling him into a hug. 

They held eachother so tight, for so long. 

Dean finally let him go with a pat, accompanied by a squeeze, to the back. 

Sam couldn’t stop staring, watched his brother's face as Dean led him over to the bridge rail, squeezed his neck in a comforting way Sam had long since forgotten. 

Sam broke his trance then, shook his head and said “Dean, I’ve got so much, we. I missed you—“ Clumsily fumbled over his words. 

“We had a son, his name was Dean, too. You would've been so proud. Love him so much.” Sam snuffled and felt Dean pull him in closer. He rested his head on Dean’s heart, just because he could. Just because he was here. Now. With Sam. 

Felt Dean draw in a big breath and felt him exhale. Sam was giddy with it. 

“You probably waited an eternity for me, huh?” 

Sam looked up, “What? Yeah. You didn’t?” 

Dean had this sullen look in his eyes. “Guess not, it was only a car drive, really. A longass one, but still. Guess it’s like how hell years equates to earth years?” 

“Well, I’m here now.” Sam shrugged. “I honestly couldn’t be happier right now, swear to god. I’ve missed you so much, Dean.” 

“Man, you’re still so sappy, even in death. Some things never change.” 

Sam stomped down lightly on Dean’s left foot. Heard Dean let out a ‘yeowch!’ before continuing— 

“Seriously though, I just.” Sam tugged on Dean’s shirt collar, pulled him up into a kiss at the same time Dean was trying to pull him down into one. 

“Yeah.” 

—

They kissed slow and sweet, at first. Slowly turned it into a sloppy, messy, biting bitch of a thing. Always hungry and starving for more. 

Dean shoved Sam up against the impala, kept kissing him hard and rough, only pulled back when Sam’s lips had been thoroughly kiss bitten, puffy pink and swelled to perfection. 

Sam huffed, shoved Dean back and opened the passenger side door. It felt _right_. It also felt right to shove Dean inside, climb inside and grind down, slow and dirty. Sam swiveled his hips, only stopped when Dean gripped him hard and huffed out a miffed “Sammy, I might shoot my goo prematurely if you don’t stop. It’s been way too long.” 

“Dude, not my fault you're a one pump chump. Just—“ 

Sam fumbled with the buckle on Dean’s jeans, finally managing to pull them open after a minute of fitful struggling. He took Dean’s cock out through his fly, taking a moment to commit every glorious inch to memory again before he ran a finger tentatively up Dean’s length, wrapping his fist around it, pumping once experimentally. They both groaned when Dean’s cock twitched. Sam wrapped his hand in a sheath, let Dean thrust up into his fist while he worked on hastily unbuckling his own jeans, his own erection straining painfully against the restrictive denim. 

Sam shoved his jeans down once he got them unbuckled, letting out a throaty moan as he lined up his dick with Dean’s. “Oh, fuck yeah, Sammy.” 

Sam licked his palm before taking both their dicks in his fist, working them fast and hard. His hips thrust erratically now, precum drooling out precariously from the head and mixing messily with Dean’s. “God, god, Dean. _Close._ ”

Dean jerked up against him once, twice, before he was coming with a throaty whine. “Sam!” He sobbed. 

“Dean, fuck!” Sam followed not two seconds after, striping them both with copious amounts of cum. 

Sam fell back against the door with a _whmp_ , watched Dean trying to catch his breath. 

Dean tucked his cock back into his pants after a minute, only bothering to zip them back up. Sam did the same, tucking his dick back into his jeans and zipping them, wiping his cum soaked hands on Dean’s shirt for good measure. 

Dean grumbled unhappily, turned into a groan when his phone started buzzing. “You have a phone up here?”

“Yea, don’t really need it but it makes it easier to communicate instead’a drivin’ everywhere.” Dean scooted up against the seat and answered the call. 

“Heya, Bobby. What’s up?”

“Oh. Yeah, got it. Thanks Bobby. Will do. See ya soon.” 

Dean hung up embarrassingly quick, his face more flushed than it had been moments prior. 

“Shoulda told Bobby I said hi, what’s up?”

“He uhh, already knows you’re here.”

“What?”

“All of Heaven heard us havin’ a quickie.”

“Oh my god.” Sam buried his face in his hands, snickering. Dean threw his head back against the seat, hooting with laughter. “Ho-ly shit.” 

“Well, reckon we should go introduce you in person?” Dean quirks one eyebrow. 

“You have _no_ shame!” Sam gasps out another laugh, slaps Dean’s knee as he grabs his gut, gasping for air. 

—

They bury Sam Winchester next to the late Dean Winchester, but Sam is none the wiser. None the wiser to his grieving son, his three year old daughter appropriately named Samantha, and Miracle, hairs whiskery and grey now, too. 

Sam is too preoccupied in heaven. In heaven, his heaven which is nothing but brother. Dean is Sam’s heaven, and he couldn’t be happier for it. 

—


End file.
